The city did not speak of failures for long.
By the morning after Awakening Day, Lythrien had already shifted its attention
to those who had ignited flame and frost.
Names of promising initiates circulated through tea houses and market streets.
Predictions were made. Alliances whispered.
Valeria's name was mentioned too.
But only as a curiosity.
Below Spark.
Unmeasurable.
She walked through the eastern district with her chin lifted, ignoring the
sideways glances. The air smelled faintly of roasted chestnuts and spirit
incense. Normal. Ordinary. As though nothing had changed.
Except everything had.
Her father waited for her at the edge of the training grounds beyond the city
walls.
Darius Vale stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the
horizon. Morning light traced silver along the embroidery of his deep blue
robes.
"You're late," he said without turning.
"You said sunrise," she replied. "The sun is indecisive."
"It is punctual. You are argumentative."
She allowed herself a faint smile as she stepped onto the worn grass clearing.
This place had always felt different from the city — quieter. The trees
surrounding the clearing were ancient, their bark threaded with natural Aether
veins that shimmered faintly when touched by wind.
Her father turned to face her fully now.
"Show me," he said.
She frowned. "Show you what?"
"What you felt yesterday."
Her throat tightened.
"I don't know how."
"That is why we are here."
He extended a small velvet pouch toward her. Inside lay three low-grade spirit
stones, each glowing faintly with stored energy.
"Sit."
She obeyed.
He settled across from her on the grass.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Forget the Orb. Forget the elders. Forget
the word they used."
Below Spark.
She forced it from her mind.
"Breathe," he continued softly. "Slowly. Feel your heartbeat."
She inhaled.
Exhaled.
The world quieted.
"Now," he said, "turn your awareness inward."
At first there was only darkness behind her closed eyes.
Then—
The hollow space.
It felt vast. Not cold this time. Just… open.
"Describe it," he murmured.
"It's like standing at the edge of something," she whispered. "But I can't see
the bottom."
"Good."
She opened one eye irritably. "You keep saying that."
He chuckled quietly. "Because you keep discovering depth."
He picked up one spirit stone and placed it gently in her palm.
"Do not force it," he warned. "Simply observe what happens."
She swallowed and focused.
The faint glow of the stone brushed against that hollow space inside her.
There was a pause.
Then a pull.
Subtle.
Natural.
The glow dimmed slightly.
She gasped and opened her eyes.
The stone remained intact — but its light had weakened.
Her father's expression had sharpened.
"Again," he said.
She closed her eyes once more.
This time she did not resist the pull.
The hollow space expanded, not violently but steadily — like lungs filling with
air.
The stone's glow flickered.
Faded further.
A crack formed along its surface.
She flinched and broke her concentration.
The stone fell from her hand and landed in the grass.
It did not crumble entirely — but it was nearly drained.
Her breathing quickened.
"I didn't mean to."
"You did not harm it," he said calmly. "You absorbed its energy."
Her eyes widened.
"That's not how cultivation works."
"It is not how most cultivation works," he corrected.
She stared at the dim stone.
"Why didn't the Orb show that?"
His gaze drifted briefly toward the distant city.
"The Orb measures outward output," he said carefully. "It measures ignition.
Projection."
"And I don't project."
"No," he agreed softly. "You receive."
The word settled heavily between them.
Receive.
She looked at her hands.
"Is that bad?"
He was quiet for a long moment.
"In balance," he said finally, "nothing is bad. But imbalance…"
She thought of the elder's word.
Imbalance.
"What am I?" she asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, he stood and extended his hand to help her up.
"You are my daughter," he said first.
She rolled her eyes slightly. "That's not helpful."
He smiled faintly.
"You are something the Orb could not measure," he continued. "And that means we
proceed carefully."
He moved to the edge of the clearing and drew a circle in the dirt with the toe
of his boot.
"Stand inside."
She did.
He lifted his hand and summoned a controlled thread of flame — small, precise,
dancing across his palm.
Her heart tightened with familiar awe. His flames were never chaotic. They
moved like disciplined soldiers.
"I will release a minor attack," he said. "Do not block it. Do not dodge."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Trust me."
The flame darted toward her — gentle by his standards but still fast.
Instinct screamed at her to shield herself.
Instead, she held still.
The moment the flame touched her shoulder, the hollow space reacted.
The fire did not burn.
It thinned.
Collapsed inward.
Drawn into her like breath.
She gasped.
The clearing went silent.
Her father lowered his hand slowly.
The place where the flame had struck her robe was untouched.
No scorch.
No heat.
She stared at him.
"I didn't feel pain."
"What did you feel?"
She searched for the right word.
"Relief."
Something flickered in his eyes then — not fear, not pride.
Recognition.
He stepped closer.
"Listen to me carefully," he said, voice lower now. "What you possess is rare.
And misunderstood."
"Is it dangerous?"
"It can be. If you lose control. If you allow emotion to drive it."
She swallowed.
"Then I'll control it."
He studied her face.
"You are stronger than you believe, Valeria. But strength without guidance
becomes destruction."
She hesitated.
"You'll guide me."
It wasn't a question.
His silence lasted just a fraction too long.
"Always," he said.
The wind shifted through the trees, carrying a faint chill.
Valeria did not notice the subtle tension in his posture.
Did not see the way his gaze scanned the tree line briefly, as if measuring
unseen presences.
They trained until the sun climbed high.
Small exercises.
Controlled absorption.
Breathing techniques.
Each time she reached inward, the hollow space responded more smoothly.
Not violent.
Not ravenous.
Just… present.
As they prepared to leave, she paused at the edge of the clearing.
"Father?"
"Yes?"
"When the Orb dimmed… did that mean it was afraid?"
He looked back at her, unreadable.
"Orbs do not feel fear."
"That's not what I asked."
A faint smile touched his lips — but it did not reach his eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "The Orb was not afraid."
He turned toward the city.
"But others might be."
High above them, beyond the clouds, within the crystalline chamber of the
Celestial Dominion,
a thin ripple passed across the monitoring array once more.
The girl's energy signature flickered faintly — unstable, but growing.
"She has begun training," one luminous figure observed.
"The anchor accelerates," another replied.
"Prepare contingency."
Back in the clearing, Valeria walked beside her father, unaware of the eyes
upon her.
For the first time since Awakening Day, the word Below Spark felt less like a
verdict.
And more like a misunderstanding.
She did not yet know that this would be their last quiet morning.
That lessons given in sunlight would soon be tested in fire.
But as they crossed back toward the city gates, her father's voice lingered in
her mind.
You receive.
And somewhere deep inside her,
something vast listened.